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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=348195" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Poet's Song</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There came no change from week to week<br>On all the land, but all one way,<br>Like ghosts that cannot touch nor speak,<br>Day followed day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Within the palace court the rounds<br>Of glare and shadow, day and night,<br>Went ever with the same dull sounds,<br>The same dull flight:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The motion of slow forms of state,<br>The far-off murmur of the street,<br>The din of couriers at the gate,<br>Half-mad with heat;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sometimes a distant shout of boys<br>At play upon the terrace walk,<br>The shutting of great doors, and noise<br>Of muttered talk.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In one red corner of the wall,<br>That fronted with its granite stain<br>The town, the palms, and, beyond all,<br>The burning plain,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As listless as the hour, alone,<br>The poet by his broken lute<br>Sat like a figure in the stone,<br>Dark-browed and mute.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He saw the heat on the thin grass<br>Fall till it withered joint by joint,<br>The shadow on the dial pass<br>From point to point.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He saw the midnight bright and bare<br>Fill with its quietude of stars<br>The silence that no human prayer<br>Attains or mars.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He heard the hours divide, and still<br>The sentry on the outer wall<br>Make the night wearier with his shrill<br>Monotonous call.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He watched the lizard where it lay,<br>Impassive as the watcher's face;<br>And only once in the long day<br>It changed its place.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sometimes with clank of hoofs and cries<br>The noon through all its trance was stirred;<br>The poet sat with half-shut eyes,<br>Nor saw, nor heard.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And once across the heated close<br>Light laughter in a silver shower<br>Fell from fair lips: the poet rose<br>And cursed the hour.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Men paled and sickened; half in fear,<br>There came to him at dusk of eve<br>One who but murmured in his ear<br>And plucked his sleeve:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The king is filled with irks, distressed,<br>And bids thee hasten to his side;<br>For thou alone canst give him rest.'<br>The poet cried:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Go, show the king this broken lute!<br>Even as it is, so am I!<br>The tree is perished to its root,<br>The fountain dry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'What seeks he of the leafless tree,<br>The broken lute, the empty spring?<br>Yea, tho' he give his crown to me,<br>I cannot sing!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>II</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>That night there came from either hand<br>A sense of change upon the land;<br>A brooding stillness rustled through<br>With creeping winds that hardly blew;<br>A shadow from the looming west,<br>A stir of leaves, a dim unrest;<br>It seemed as if a spell had broke.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And then the poet turned and woke<br>As from the darkness of a dream,<br>And with a smile divine supreme<br>Drew up his mantle fold on fold,<br>And strung his lute with strings of gold,<br>And bound the sandals to his feet,<br>And strode into the darkling street.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through crowds of murmuring men he hied,<br>With working lips and swinging stride,<br>And gleaming eyes and brow bent down;<br>Out of the great gate of the town<br>He hastened ever and passed on,<br>And ere the darkness came, was gone,<br>A mote beyond the western swell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And then the storm arose and fell<br>From wheeling shadows black with rain<br>That drowned the hills and strode the plain;<br>Round the grim mountain-heads it passed,<br>Down whistling valleys blast on blast,<br>Surged in upon the snapping trees,<br>And swept the shuddering villages.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That night, when the fierce hours grew long,<br>Once more the monarch, old and grey,<br>Called for the poet and his song,<br>And called in vain. But far away,<br>By the wild mountain-gorges, stirred,<br>The shepherds in their watches heard,<br>Above the torrent's charge and clang,<br>The cleaving chant of one that sang.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Archibald+Lampman">Archibald Lampman</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=348195" data-title="The Poet's Song de Archibald Lampman" data-description="I

There came no change from week to week
On all the land, but all one way,
Like ghosts that cannot touch nor speak,
Day followed day.

Within the palace court the rounds
Of glare and shadow, day and night,
Went ever with the same dull sounds,
The..."></div>
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